


Babe, I Hate To Go

by marcel



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, alternate universe but could also be canon?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 20:39:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marcel/pseuds/marcel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is going away for a week. Louis is Not Okay with this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Babe, I Hate To Go

**Author's Note:**

> ok basically somerdaye isnt going to be able to text me for a week and i'm already dyin so this happened as a goodbye present. thank you to lauren and allie for reading it over <333

  
“Lou?”  
  
“What.”  
  
“Are you going to come out of there?”  
  
“Haven’t decided yet.”  
  
“Louis, please,” Harry says, leaning back against the wall. “Please open the door.”  
  
“No,” Louis calls back. “I’m fine. Go to your hipster film festival, or whatever it is.”  
  
“I’m not leaving you here until I know you’re okay.”  
  
“I _am_.”  
  
Harry rolls his eyes at the closed bathroom door. “I’m not stupid.”  
  
He had, however, been standing in the hallway talking to a door for the past twenty minutes. Louis had hid himself away as soon as they’d gotten back to their flat - and Harry realises, now, that maybe the tired drive home from the club after one of Zayn’s DJ gigs wasn’t the best time or place to tell him that, come the next morning, he was going away for a week to attend a film festival.  
  
In New York. With Nick.  
  
Sighing deeply, Harry slides down to the floor. He’d given up knocking a while ago, after his knuckles had started to bruise. He hears the water tap turn on and off, pictures Louis sitting on the counter kicking his feet as he watches it swirl down the drain.  
  
“It’ll only be a few days,” Harry says.  
  
“An entire week is not ‘a few days’.”  
  
“We’ve gone entire weeks without seeing each other before.”  
  
“Yeah, but not entire weeks while you’re with _Grimmy_.”  
  
Harry can feel the malicious air-quotes Louis puts around the name. “Nick’s not that bad,” he says, and then, quieter: “What are you so worried about?”  
  
“I’m not worried.”  
  
“Then why are you hiding from me?”  
  
“I’m not _hiding_ ,” Louis huffs, and Harry hears his feet hit the floor tiles.  
  
“Lou, come on, open the door,” he says, standing up again. “I want to talk to you.”  
  
“We’re talking now, aren’t we?”  
  
“Properly, I mean. Face to face.”  
  
“No.” The counter creaks, and Harry pictures Louis leaning on it, staring at his reflection in the mirror. “I’ll be fine, Harry. Just go.”  
  
“Not without seeing you,” Harry says.  
  
“When’s your flight?”  
  
“Doesn’t matter.”  
  
Louis goes quiet.  
  
“Is it because it’s in America?” Harry asks softly, placing his hands lightly on the doorframe. “And how far away I’ll be? I’ll call you every day, if you want. Promise.” He pauses. “Or is it because I’m going with Nick? He wouldn’t try anything, you know. I think he’s got more of a thing for Fincham. From the radio.”  
  
Louis snickers a tiny bit at that, and Harry smiles. “I’ll send you a postcard, even. I’ll find one with a picture that’s different from all the others, and on the back, I’ll write you the sappiest love-letter imaginable.” He rests his head against the door. “And everyone that sees it along the way, they’ll know how much I’m missing you.”  
  
For a long time, it’s silent on the other side of the door. Harry nearly jumps when Louis clears his throat.  
  
“It’s unlocked.”  
  
Harry blinks. “What?”  
  
“The door,” Louis says quietly. “It’s unlocked. You can come in.”  
  
“Oh.” Harry swallows. “Okay.”  
  
Taking a deep breath, he turns the knob and pushes the door open. Louis is standing by the sink, and he gives Harry a small smile when he glances at him in the mirror. He turns slowly to face him, tapping his fingers against the counter.  
  
“Hi.”  
  
“Hey.” Harry looks him up and down. “How are you feeling?”  
  
Louis shrugs. “I’m alright.”  
  
Humming, Harry gently turns Louis’ face towards his own. “Were you crying?”  
  
“No,” Louis says quickly, but rubs his eyes anyway.  
  
Harry smiles and kisses him.  
  
He digs in fingers into Louis’ hips, pressing him up against the counter, and Louis slides his hands into Harry’s curls. After a few long seconds, Harry pulls back and rests his forehead against Louis’.  
  
“I’m serious about that postcard,” he says.  
  
“I know,” Louis sighs, wrapping his arms around Harry’s shoulders. “You’re too much of a hopeless romantic to _not_ do it.”  
  
“I wouldn’t say I’m hopeless,” Harry laughs, pulling back to look at him. “I mean, I got you, didn’t I?”  
  
Louis rolls his eyes but smiles anyway, and Harry kisses the top of his head before taking his hand and leading him out into the hallway. As soon as they enter Harry’s bedroom Louis yawns and flops down on his bed, waving one of his feet in Harry’s general direction as a signal to help him out of his jeans. Harry, as always, complies.  
  
Once the lights are out and they’re pressed together under Harry’s blankets, Louis shifts closer and buries his face against Harry’s neck.  
  
“I’m gonna miss you more than anything,” he whispers.  
  
Harry scoots down to face him in the dark. “Every on-screen kiss,” he murmurs, “every sex scene, every time two characters share a look or a dance or a _touch_. I’ll be thinking of you.”  
  
A pleased smile curves over Louis’ lips, and he tangles their feet together under the covers. “You sure know how to sweet-talk.”  
  
“I might miss that most.”  
  
“What, compliments?”  
  
“Making you blush.” He leans closer and kisses Louis again, slower.  
  
When they break apart, Louis sighs contentedly and takes Harry’s hand, squeezing gently. “You’re gonna be here when I wake up, right?” he asks, saying it quickly like he’s afraid of the answer.  
  
Harry squeezes back. “‘Course I am.”  
  
“Good. I mean, I don’t expect a full English or anything, but a cuppa would be nice.” He tucks his head against Harry’s shoulder, pressing a kiss there. “A goodbye would be nice.”  
  
“I’d never leave without saying goodbye,” Harry says, and he feels Louis smile against his skin.  
  
“You’d delay the entire plane if you had to?”  
  
“No question.”  
  
“How romantic.”  
  
“Go to sleep, Lou.” He squeezes his hand again. “I’ll be here. Promise.”  
  
Louis hums and nuzzles closer, his breath puffing lightly over Harry’s chest. Linking their fingers together, Harry closes his eyes, letting himself fall asleep to the sound.  
  



End file.
